


When in Rome

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Wicked Thing [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Gratuitous Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: Crowley is a cowardly thing and it is the most human he has ever felt, watching helplessly as Aziraphale, who just five minutes ago had been wailing his name, leaves the nondescript room.This is how it begins, the wicked game they play during clandestine meetings in dark places.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wicked Thing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879
Comments: 41
Kudos: 423
Collections: AJ’s personal faves, British Angels and Demons, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, The Good Omens Library





	When in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> This is the precursor that precisely nobody asked for, to [Wicked Games](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286790) and [Hopes Realised](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458725), showing what led Crowley and Aziraphale to start sleeping together in my 'Wicked Thing' verse. It's set in Rome 41 AD.
> 
> Though 'When in Rome' is a prequel, I recommend reading the other two fics first, because they establish the premise of this series better, and this one draws parallels with them.
> 
>  **NOTE:** Gotta warn you, folks, this is very NSFW. I mean, the Wicked Thing series is rated Explicit as a whole, but this? This is just straight up filth. It is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and it makes me cringe, but I was inspired to write trash and I did.

Crowley is a cowardly thing, as is neither befitting nor unbefitting of a Demon doing Hell’s work on Earth.

Crowley is a cowardly thing and it is the most human he has ever felt, watching helplessly as the Angel, who just five minutes ago had been wailing his name, leaves the nondescript room.

Aziraphale leaves as if his meticulously worn toga hadn’t joined Crowley’s discarded one on the floor an hour ago. As if he hadn’t removed Crowley’s tinted eyeglasses and straddled him on the feather mattress.

As if he hadn’t come shaking apart, again and again, with Crowley’s tongue on his clit and Crowley’s cock in his cunt.

Aziraphale leaves as nonchalantly as if they were parting ways after an innocent lunch at Petronius’ restaurant.

Only, Crowley thinks bitterly to himself, that lunch had been anything _but_.

The door closes behind Aziraphale, with a soft click; a finality. Crowley watches him go, wretched.

~***~

This is how it begins, the wicked game they play during clandestine meetings in dark places without names.

It starts, as all epics* do, with a kiss.

(* The inherent _optimism_ within Crowley is the only thing that stops him from calling it a tragedy right off the bat.

He would rather play a wicked game with Aziraphale for eternity, than suffer the inconsolable separation of a tragedy. )

Crowley blames the oysters. Fucking oysters.

And the flirting. Satan help him, the _flirting_.

It is the last thing he expects, and he has been trying so _hard_ not to expect anything. So many years, centuries, millennia even, of keeping his feelings and desires bottled away - but now here is Aziraphale, approaching him, smiling at him, making endearingly ridiculous small talk and, finally, _slipping up_ -

‘Oh let me _tempt_ you to - oh!’ He catches himself, blushing and flustered, and Crowley stares, startled and delighted all at once.

And then Aziraphale looks up at him through his eyelashes, the embodiment of shy innocence. Or coy enticement.

Crowley forgets how to say no*. He follows Aziraphale to Petronius’ restaurant.

(* He has never been able to say no to Aziraphale.)

The next hour is torture like nothing Crowley has ever known.

Crowley has never eaten an oyster, but he soon discovers that he wouldn’t mind watching Aziraphale devour them for the rest of his existence.

It is pure sin.

The way Aziraphale’s lips, stained red with wine and utterly inviting, close delicately over the mollusk; the arch of his throat and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he throws his head back to slurp up the soft muscle; and then the sound of pure _pleasure_ he makes, eyes closed and lips smacking, as if the experience is one of utter orgasmic delight…

Oh, Hell has nothing on this.

Caligula’s orgies have nothing on this.

It goes on, shell after shell emptied into that alluring mouth, and Crowley finds himself wishing, for the first time in a long time, that he’d chosen to present as female. Or at least manifested a vulva regardless of appearance.

A soaking cunt is easier to hide than an erection. And Crowley is hard, painfully so.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to knock the oyster away from Aziraphale’s mouth and replace it with Crowley’s tongue. He wants to suck the taste off of Aziraphale’s enticing lips, wants to hear Aziraphale make that sinful sound in his ear, wants to reach under Aziraphale’s toga and make him unravel, right here at the table.

Never has his desire for Aziraphale reared so strongly as it does in that moment and Crowley bites his lip, clenching his hands into fists. He doesn’t know what Aziraphale is wearing between his legs; if he’d even bothered to make an effort. He doesn’t know if Aziraphale would want Crowley’s mouth on a cock or clit, or Crowley’s prick in a cunt or arse, or Crowley bent over the nearest surface for him - anything, everything that can pleasure the Angel, Crowley wants to give him.

Aziraphale notices.

Lowering another empty shell to the platter placed between them, Aziraphale takes in Crowley’s open, unashamed stare. Crowley wonders if Aziraphale can hear his shaky breathing, sense the pounding of a heart that doesn’t need to beat.

And then Aziraphale slurps up the next oyster, looking right at Crowley as he fairly _moans_ around the mollusk. The tip of a pink tongue pokes out, slowly wetting his lower lip as Aziraphale puts down the shell.

Crowley gapes at him, speechless. He is doing it, has been doing it the whole time, on purpose.

When Crowley finally picks up an oyster, it is not with the purpose of sampling the delicacy but to make sure, really sure, that he is not misreading Aziraphale.

He slurps it up with the kind of seductive flair he uses on assignments to lure humans into lust; not at all unlike how Aziraphale has been doing it at him the whole afternoon.

Aziraphale’s lips part as he watches Crowley, his eyes widening. The hitch in his breath is unmistakable.

Before Crowley can reach for a second oyster, Aziraphale asks, sounding breathless, ‘Do you - would you like to retire and … enjoy some wine?’

Crowley stares at him. ‘Sure.’

Aziraphale swallows. ’I … I believe there is an amphora of honeyed wine waiting for us in … in your rooms.’

There isn’t. Unless Aziraphale has miracled in some.

Crowley very much doubts that.

‘Should taste better than the house brown.’ Aziraphale licks his lips. His eyes dip to focus on Crowley’s mouth. ‘I think I should like to have some wine.’

He cannot have made his meaning clearer. It takes Crowley a full ten seconds*. And then he is on his feet.

(* Understandable when the Angel that has constantly haunted your thoughts finally propositions you.)

‘My inn is just a few minutes away.’

~***~

They make it no more than a few streets.

Later, Crowley can’t tell who led whom into the darkening alley off the road that leads to his inn. Maybe he pulls Aziraphale by the hand. Maybe Aziraphale pushes him by the shoulders.

All he is aware of is Aziraphale in his arms, the way he trembles and gasps when Crowley crowds him up against the wall, clinging to Crowley’s waist with strong fingers and tilting his head up eagerly.

Crowley pauses right before their lips meet, searching Aziraphale’s countenance for any sign that he is a thrice-blessed fool who has misread the whole situation.

Aziraphale ruts his hips against Crowley’s, rubbing impatiently against the erection Crowley has been hiding under his toga with the help of a rushed demonic miracle.

He groans at the friction and leans in, capturing Aziraphale’s lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss that elicits moans from both of them.

Oh Hell, for how _long_ has he dreamed of this, Crowley thinks faintly as he sucks harshly on Aziraphale’s lower lip, the way he has been fantasising ever since that first oyster touched the Angel’s mouth.

Aziraphale responds with a fierceness that is almost startling, nipping back at Crowley in kind before he slips his tongue between Crowley’s lips, licking eagerly into his mouth. Crowley shudders, his heart going frantic, and then lets his weight push Aziraphale harder up against the wall, pressing his hardness against him. The Angel moans, that lewd sinful sound he had made back at the restaurant.

Crowley, feeling quite victorious, catches his intruding tongue between his teeth and sucks on the sinewy muscle, making Aziraphale positively _mewl_. Aziraphale breaks away for a split second, lips parted and panting for breath he doesn’t need, but finds himself immediately ravished again as Crowley proceeds to give him a very intimate demonstration of all the really weird things he can do with his tongue.

By the time he’s done, Aziraphale is whimpering into his mouth, arms thrown around Crowley’s neck.

‘Oh,’ he breathes, ‘oh … that was …’

‘It really was,’ Crowley agrees, barely coherent himself. And he hasn’t even begun on all the things he wants to do to Aziraphale.

‘Oh, we shouldn’t have,’ Aziraphale whispers, his chest still heaving.

Crowley’s blood runs cold. ‘Wha-?’

‘It’s, it’s wrong … we _can’t_ …’

Shaken, Crowley starts to draw away but Aziraphale doesn’t relent, pulling him closer.

‘We shouldn’t do this,’ he whispers again, but he’s pressing up against Crowley, leaning up to kiss him.

‘So, you want to do this?’ Crowley asks, uncertainly.

Aziraphale doesn’t reply, just kisses him again. ‘Thought you had wine in your room?’ He says against Crowley’s lips, pushing his hips into Crowley’s erection.

Well. That means Aziraphale does want this then, Crowley supposes.

‘Sure, angel,’ Crowley murmurs and then, deciding that neither of them are in any condition to walk up the road, snaps his fingers to miracle them to his room.

There is no amphora of honeyed wine waiting for them. And that is all the answer Crowley needs.

~***~

There is more protesting from Aziraphale as they finally make it to bed. He breathes a litany of _no_ and _we can’t_ into Crowley’s ear; moans _this is wrong_ and _we shouldn’t_ as they undress - and yet, with every protest out of his lips, he pulls Crowley closer, rubs harder against him, chases his mouth for every kiss Crowley can give him.

It is bizarre and Crowley doesn’t entirely understand, but with each caress, Aziraphale is inviting Crowley to touch him.

So he puts aside his reservations and gives in.

He plans to take it slow, to strip Aziraphale of his toga inch by inch, and make love to every bit of skin that is revealed. But to his surprise, Aziraphale doesn’t allow it. His hands scramble to yank off Crowley’s toga, almost ripping the dark material in his hurry to get it off, and then does the same for himself.

Oh. Well. If that’s how Aziraphale wants it.

Licking his lips, he steps back to admire the Angel, at the miles and miles of naked skin finally bared before him.

He has imagined this moment so many times and none of his fantasies even approaches the reality of Aziraphale in all his beauty. Crowley reaches to touch him, running his fingers reverently over his broad shoulders and down across the fine blond hairs on his chest, the swell of his stomach.

He is generous curves and soft roundness, so unlike Crowley who is all harsh angles and sharp points.

For the first time since they entered that alley, Aziraphale is still. He is looking at Crowley, lips tight, as if awaiting judgement.

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley breathes, ‘angel, you’re stunning.’

At that, Aziraphale inhales sharply. His eyes are wide.

Crowley pulls him close. ‘So, so beautiful.’ He leans down slowly, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale’s as he takes a nipple in his mouth.

The sound Aziraphale makes shoots directly to his cock.

’Ah! C-Crowle - _ohh_! Don’t - don’t say that,’ Aziraphale gasps. ‘We mustn’t…’ There it is again, the protest, but his cheeks are pink and there are the edges of a suppressed smile on his face.

‘It must be said and I will say it. You are gorgeous,’ Crowley tells him and turns to lave his tongue over the other nipple, sucking the hardening peak into his mouth.

Aziraphale whimpers again and quickly pulls away. ’Crowley,’ he says, his voice sharper than before. But then he softens, allowing the shy smile to break forth. ’As are you … my de - Crowley.’

There is a beat, and then Aziraphale reaches up. With utmost gentleness, he removes the tinted eyeglasses Crowley is wearing.

‘There. Better.’ Aziraphale miracles the glasses away with a flick of his hand. ‘But leave the laurels on. It looks good on you,’ he adds, eyes roving over the silver wreath now sitting askew on Crowley’s red curls.

Crowley can swear that his heart lodges itself in his throat. But there is no time to say or do anything else, for Aziraphale is moving again.

Placing his hands on Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale pushes the Demon backwards until his legs hit the bed behind him. Crowley flops down on to his back, and in an instant, Aziraphale has swung himself up after him, boldly sitting astride his middle.

The tip of Crowley’s neglected cock grazes just so against Aziraphale’s plump arse. He shivers, overcome again with need.

For the first time, Crowley takes his eyes off all that distracting _skin_ , to study the particular effort the Angel has made.

His mouth goes dry. Licking his lips, Crowley can’t help but stare at the gleaming pink folds of the cunt Aziraphale is wearing. Sitting astride Crowley as he is, his labia are parted and, through the smattering of blond curls over his mound, Crowley can glimpse the rounded nub of his clit, already swollen and just begging to be sucked.

A thin stream of slick is already dripping onto Crowley’s stomach.

‘Angel,’ he croaks. ‘Look at you, just sopping wet for me.’

Again, Aziraphale appears a little uncertain, just as he had when Crowley first saw him nude. ‘If you prefer another configuration -’

‘You’re perfect,’ Crowley says, almost stumbling over the syllables. He swears, unable to tear his eyes away from the goddamn vision in front of him. ‘Hell, angel, you’re … ngk. I can’t wait - I want to …’ He can’t finish. It’s all he can do to not flip Aziraphale over and dive into that soaked pussy.

Aziraphale gives a breathy laugh. ‘I’m glad you like it. I quite like it myself.’

That catches Crowley’s attention. He raises an eyebrow. ‘Wear one often, do you?’

‘No. I don’t wear anything most of the time,’ Aziraphale admits. ‘And when I have to blend in with this particular body, I’ve often gone with a penis. In fact, I was planning on that when I first came to Rome.’

‘Oh? What changed your mind?’

Aziraphale spreads his legs a tad wider. The movement makes his clit just graze over Crowley’s belly, and the Angel shudders.

‘The oysters,’ he whispers.

‘Oysters?’ Crowley repeats, surprised.

‘The Romans believe it is …’ Aziraphale licks his lips, ‘an aphrodisiac. And you’ve had them today, Crowley. What do oysters resemble?’

Crowley’s jaw drops open. ‘Really? That’s why?’

‘Mostly, I was curious,’ Aziraphale smiles, and there is a hint of mischief on his face now. ‘I don’t know if what they say about oysters is true, but,’ he grinds down a bit harder against Crowley, smearing his juices over his stomach with a breathy gasp, ‘this particular effort _is_ quite lovely.’

It takes Crowley a moment to work his tongue again. ‘Been touching yourself, have you? Been exploring this glorious cunt you gave yourself, seeking pleasures of the flesh?’

Aziraphale moans a little. He begins to rub his pussy, very lightly, over Crowley’s stomach, as the Demon continues in a low voice, inspired,

‘Tell me what you have been up to, Aziraphale. Do you take yourself in hand every night? Or have you been naughty, luring lovers to seek your release? Have you been _fucking*_ , angel?’

(* Normally, the very idea would have Crowley burning with jealousy. But right now, caught up as he is in the way Aziraphale looks and sounds, every filthy world out of his mouth only arouses him more.)

‘No!’ Aziraphale gasps, still rubbing on him. ‘Why would I - _ohh_ , oh … why would I with, _ah_ , humans?’

‘No?’ Crowley repeats breathlessly, smoothing his palms over Aziraphale’s thick thighs, planted on both sides of his middle. ‘Then what do you do, angel? Do you get yourself all nice and wet, and rub your sweet clit, wishing it were someone’s mouth on you? Do you take your fingers inside and fuck yourself, pretending you’re riding a long, thick cock?’

His words have Aziraphale moaning louder, grinding harder down on him. His cunt is so wet it slides slickly over Crowley’s stomach.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

’N-No,’ Aziraphale chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘W-w-we … we c-can’t! Oh, we shouldn’t!’

That protest again. Aziraphale is still chasing his pleasure on Crowley’s body, but here he is, verbally denying it once more.

Crowley still doesn’t get it, but Aziraphale isn’t actually stopping despite his words.

He can play along, if that’s what the Angel wants.

‘We can’t?’ He repeats, pitching his voice to a growl. ‘Oh, but angel, just look at you. You’re coming undone and I’ve barely touched you.’

Aziraphale whimpers, his mouth falling open on a silent _no._

‘I think you want it, Aziraphale,’ Crowley almost hisses. ‘You’re just aching for it, aren’t you? For someone to feast on that pretty little pussy of yours? To fill your empty cunt with cock?’

Crowley lifts his hands from Aziraphale’s hips, mapping meandering pathways up the swell of his belly to scratch his blunt nails over the Angel’s hard nipples.

‘Tell me, _angelus_ , is that what you want me to do?’

‘Yes!’ Aziraphale cries, throwing his head back. ‘Oh, yes! Yes!’

‘Yes, what?’ Crowley asks silkily. ‘You need to be specific, angel.’

Aziraphale’s hips stutter. ‘Oh, oh, please - aaah! C-Crowley, _please_!’

Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s hips, slowing down his movements. ‘Say it, Aziraphale. What do you want?’

Aziraphale’s chest is heaving, his pupils blown wide. ‘I want you,’ he rasps, ‘to put your damned money where your mouth is.’

Crowley stares up at him, speechless. Then, ‘Come here’, he growls and bodily _heaves_ Aziraphale forward.

The Angel, who suddenly finds himself kneeling over Crowley’s head, positively keens at the first touch of Crowley’s tongue to his clit. It is barely a flick, and Crowley smirks at the reaction before he turns his attention to Aziraphale’s labia, mouthing and licking along the thick folds as Aziraphale shudders above him.

Aziraphale undulates, chasing after Crowley’s tongue, trying to get it on his swollen nub, but Crowley grabs his waist, digging his fingers into his love handles to keep the Angel in place. He drives Aziraphale nearly to distraction, laving his tongue lavishly over his folds before he proceeds to lick a long hard stripe directly over the Angel’s core. His tongue dips into Aziraphale’s dripping cunt as he goes, gathering a dollop of his slick which he smears over Aziraphale’s clit and hood, hard, with his tongue.

Aziraphale _wails_ , and then doesn’t stop as Crowley finally devotes his mouth to his clit. He swirls his tongue around it, lightning fast and unceasing, alternating gentle caresses with hard licks, before he closes his lips over it, sucking hungrily and without mercy.

The Angel’s voice goes hoarse, and he braces his palms on the wall above the bed, his entire body shaking as Crowley practically devours him, the minutes drawn out into little eternities.

Crowley can sense Aziraphale is getting close. With one last searing suck on his abused clit, Crowley withdraws his tongue only to shove it next moment, the entire inhuman length of it, inside Aziraphale’s slick cunt.

Aziraphale almost screams as Crowley fucks him hard with his tongue, massaging his walls from impossibly deep within. He slips a hand between his head and Aziraphale’s trembling thigh to rub at his sensitive clit. The Angel cants his hips and Crowley proceeds to give Aziraphale’s tight pussy the same treatment he had given his mouth in the alley earlier, twisting and drilling his tongue in ways, at speeds, that no human ever can.

No human, _no one,_ can ever satisfy Aziraphale the way he can, Crowley thinks feverishly.

Aziraphale comes with Crowley’s name on his lips, frantically riding his tongue. The Demon fucks him through it, drawing out his pleasure for endless seconds until the Angel is shuddering uncontrollably. Crowley slows his clever fingers on Aziraphale’s clit to a soothing caress and slips his tongue out, allowing a long, gentle lick across his throbbing core.

Crowley drags his tongue over his lips, revelling in the lingering taste before he miracles his mouth and chin, smeared with Aziraphale’s slick, clean. He turns his head to press a loving kiss to the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh.

‘All right there, angel?’

Aziraphale stays frozen for several seconds, his forearms braced against the wall. Crowley rubs his hands over his hips and thighs soothingly, pleased to find Aziraphale still rocking from aftershocks. He leans up to press another kiss, soft and careful, to Aziraphale’s clit.

The touch draws a whine from the Angel. At last he moves, shakily swinging his legs off from around Crowley’s head, to slide down on the bed so that they are face-to-face.

‘Aziraph - _mmph_.’

Aziraphale is kissing him hard, much like how he had back in the alley, hungry and almost possessive. Crowley wraps his arms around him, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his ear, his throat, every bit of him he can reach.

‘Oh, you wicked thing,’ Aziraphale murmurs, trembling as he hovers above Crowley. ‘You beautiful, brilliant, wicked thing.’

‘Hmm?’

Aziraphale presses a knee between Crowley’s legs, abruptly bringing his raging erection back into sharp focus. Crowley had been so single-mindedly devoted to Aziraphale’s pleasure, he’d quite forgotten about his own state.

‘Ah,’ Crowley mumbles. His face heats up as Aziraphale wraps a hand around his straining cock. ‘Y-you don’t have to do that.’

‘No?’

‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,’ Crowley assures him with a lazy smile.

‘Hmm.’ Aziraphale doesn’t let go. His eyes rake over Crowley’s face, coming to rest on his lips. ‘I know we shouldn’t…’

This again? Crowley wonders. But before he can ask about Aziraphale’s protests, the Angel kisses him briefly on the mouth. He strokes Crowley’s cock experimentally.

Crowley gasps, arching his hips into the touch.

‘We really shouldn’t,’ Aziraphale whispers to him, ‘but as I recall, you offered to … what was it? Oh yes - feast on my pretty pussy and fill my empty cunt with cock.’ He tilts his head. ‘You’ve only kept half your word though. Would be an awful sin, would it not, if you didn’t fulfil it?’

‘A sin,’ Crowley echoes numbly, his thoughts scattered between what Aziraphale is saying and the slide of his fingers over his prick.

‘I should,’ Aziraphale swallows, ‘I ought to make sure you follow through with what you said. It would only be the right thing to do.’

Oh, bless it all, Crowley thinks wildly. And then he is grabbing Aziraphale around the middle and rolling them over, pressing the Angel down into the sheets.

Aziraphale’s legs fall open at once and Crowley settles between them, groaning with wanton need at the sight of his gleaming cunt, dripping with his own wetness and the result of Crowley’s ministrations from not five minutes ago.

‘You’ve already tended to me so well, Crowley,’ Aziraphale says. He reaches down to drag the fingers of his right hand between his folds. As Crowley watches, jaw slack, Aziraphale pushes two, then three inside, fingering himself for a good ten seconds before he pulls out, spreading his juices over his fingers.

Then those fingers are around Crowley, slicking up his leaking cock, a teasing thumb passing over his slit to mix in his precum.

Crowley groans. ‘Angel, you’re going to discorporate me.’

Aziraphale lies back on the bed. With his arms now resting idly by his head, and his legs spreadso surely, so confidently for Crowley, he is the picture of debauched.

‘Aren’t you going to finish seeing to me?’

‘Damn near insatiable, aren’t ya, angel?’

And then he is falling upon Aziraphale, ravishing his mouth with his tongue, and his body - pliant and willing and needy - with his cock.

Aziraphale is so wet Crowley barely meets any resistance when he breaches his cunt. They both cry out, Aziraphale clutching at Crowley’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist as Crowley presses in deeper, inch by inch.

He is searing hot and tight inside, slick walls hugging Crowley’s throbbing cock, seeming to suck him in until he is completely buried in Aziraphale.

He pauses, breathing raggedly. Aziraphale has his eyes screwed shut, but he doesn’t look to be in pain. His face relaxes, slowly, as the seconds pass and Crowley realises he is adjusting to him, to having Crowley inside him.

At that thought, Crowley is suddenly bowled over by the magnitude of what they’re doing.

They’re making love. _Finally_.

He’s making love to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who is willing and _wants_ him.

Aziraphale, who is canting his hips with a wince and whispering, in a voice shot with desire and need, ‘Please, Crowley, _move_!’

Holy shit, Crowley thinks, awestruck.

He draws away, pulling out ever so slightly, before gently rocking back in until he’s fully sheathed in Aziraphale again. Aziraphale groans, canting his hips again. Taking the encouragement, Crowley starts a slow rhythm, pulling out in increasing increments and driving back in, until Aziraphale is loosened and comfortable enough for Crowley to pull almost all the way out, the head of his cock almost clearing Aziraphale’s cunt, before he thrusts in all the way again.

Aziraphale tightens his legs around him, panting. ‘Yes - yes! Oh, please, Crowley! More! Y-you can … ah! You can go harde - _oohh_!’

‘Are - you sure?’ Crowley gasps, watching Aziraphale’s expression worriedly.

The Angel scrabbles at the mussed sheets of Crowley’s mattress for purchase. ‘ _Yes_. I won’t - ohh!’ He keens as Crowley picks up the pace, snapping his hips in strong, undulating movements.

‘Oh yes, like that!’ Aziraphale babbles, clenching his fists into the sheets. ‘I - I won’t b-break - aaahh.’ He breaks off, panting harshly. ‘Crowley, please, you can go harder.’

‘Still?’ Crowley says, his breath stuttering.

Aziraphale throws his head back, exposing the lovely arc of his throat. ‘Y-yes! I - I want you t - _Crowley_!’

Crowley doesn’t know what he’d expected, the few times he had allowed himself the fantasy of bedding Aziraphale. He doesn’t think he’d expected the Angel to be so _verbal_ , so forthright about what he wants and completely shameless in demanding it.

And Crowley doesn’t mind in the least. He greedily drinks in the sounds, coherent and incoherent, that drops from Aziraphale’s lips in his ecstasy as Crowley fucks him into the bed, harder, faster, setting a near brutal pace that has the Angel moaning into his ear.

Crowley swallows his moans with a kiss, with enough passion to offset the sloppiness with which their mouths come together as he thrusts into Aziraphale. The room is filled with the sounds of the wet slide of his cock in Aziraphale’s cunt, of skin slapping skin.

He leans forward to suck a bruise into Aziraphale’s neck, overcome with the sudden urge to mark and claim, and it is this new angle that makes Aziraphale _wail_ , his nails scratching at Crowley’s back.

‘There! Oh, right _there_ , Crowley!’

Gripping Aziraphale by the hips, Crowley thrusts in again, trying to aim for that spot. He drives in twice, thrice and on the fourth try, Aziraphale keens again, his back almost arching off the bed.

Fuck, he is such a vision, Crowley thinks breathlessly, sounds of pleasure falling from his own lips as he rocks his hips into Aziraphale, hitting that sweet spot relentlessly. Aziraphale is thrashing, his right hand clutching at Crowley’s arm as he reaches down with the other to rub his clit. He is close, Crowley can tell. His own orgasm is building, the heat pooling in his gut, but he grits his teeth and tries to focus all his attention on Aziraphale.

He will be damned* if he comes before satisfying Aziraphale first.

(* Presently, there isn’t a single coherent corner of his brain to appreciate the irony.)

‘C-Crowley, I - !’ Aziraphale clings to him, trembling, and Crowley leans in to give him another sloppy kiss, driving into his body

Aziraphale comes with an obscene cry that may have been Crowley’s name. It is muffled against Crowley’s lips as he kisses Aziraphale soundly, steadily fucking him through his orgasm just as he’d done with his tongue earlier.

The Angel’s cunt clenches around his cock, throbbing and contracting as Aziraphale rides out his pleasure. He drops back bonelessly onto the mattress, looking thoroughly satiated and fucked out.

Crowley has never seen Aziraphale look lovelier.

He begins to slow down, intending to pull out, but Aziraphale locks his legs around his hips again.

‘You haven’t finished.’

‘’M fine,’ mumbles Crowley, aware that he is very much not fine and that his cock feels ready to burst.

‘No,’ says Aziraphale, cradling his face. ‘You can finish.’

‘Angel,’ Crowley gasps, his hips stuttering as his pleasure builds uncontrollably. ‘’M too close.’

‘Good,’ Aziraphale whispers.

‘If I don’t pull out - !’

‘I want you to come in me.’

That’s all it takes. He cries out for Aziraphale, his orgasm hitting so hard his vision blurs for a moment. Aziraphale makes a breathy sound as Crowley spills deep inside him, and Crowley feels him clench down on his cock again, as if he is trying to milk every last drop out of Crowley. Moaning, he thrusts in a few more times, whining at the friction on his spent cock as he slowly comes down, until he finally collapses, exhausted, on Aziraphale.

For a long minute, neither of them moves. Aziraphale’s hands rest loosely on Crowley’s shoulders as the Demon breathes against his neck.

As his senses return, still a bit hazy in his post-coital bliss, it occurs to Crowley that his full weight on Aziraphale may be causing discomfort. Bracing himself on shaky arms, he lifts himself off, gently slipping out of Aziraphale. The Angel’s breath hitches, but he still looks blissed out as Crowley moves to lie beside him.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Crowley smooths his palm down over Aziraphale’s side, over the curve of his hips and the generous slope of his belly, coming to rest just above his mound. Aziraphale shivers at the touch, and Crowley rakes his eyes greedily over his body. He is so beautiful.

His gaze settles between Aziraphale’s legs again. His cunt is sopping with his own slick and Crowley’s spend, leaking out of him in milky rivulets.

Crowley had never thought he’d get to see Aziraphale like this, have him like this.

‘Angel,’ he whispers, like a benediction.

He moves his hand, intending to clean Aziraphale up with a quick miracle, but Aziraphale grabs his wrist, moving for the first time after their passionate love-making.

‘No,’ he whispers. ‘Leave it.’

Crowley’s mouth goes dry. ‘I … I could, er … clean you up the human way, if you’d like.’

A jolt of arousal shoots through him as he says the words, and suddenly that’s all he wants - to lap at the Angel’s sweet cunt until he is clean and coming on Crowley’s tongue again.

He wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his days between Aziraphale’s legs, if he so desired.

But again, Aziraphale is saying, ‘No. It’s all right, Crowley. I want it to …’

He wants to, what? Walk around with Crowley’s spend dripping from his cunt, staining the insides of his thighs under his pristine white toga?

Crowley groans aloud at the thought, and then again when Aziraphale, unexpectedly, reaches down to run two fingers between his folds. They come away slick and Aziraphale sucks them into his mouth, sampling the taste of himself mixed with Crowley. His eyes drift close.

‘Fuck, Aziraphale,’ Crowley says raggedly. He leans down and kisses him harshly, right over the fingers Aziraphale is still sucking.

Aziraphale slips his fingers out of his mouth and Crowley replaces them with his tongue. He groans again as he tastes Aziraphale’s familiar flavour mixed with a strange tang he realises must be his own.

Oh God, he blasphemes in his mind, kissing the Angel harder.

He moves to wrap his arms around Aziraphale, to cradle him close and hold him, but then Aziraphale breaks away with a gentle but firm hand on Crowley’s chest. When Crowley pulls back, the Angel sits up.

Still a little dazed, Crowley reaches for him again. ‘Where are you going?’

But Aziraphale is slipping off the bed, out of Crowley’s reach. He’s wearing a small smile when he turns to look back at him, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. Not like the way it had when they were in bed together.

‘It’s getting late. I - I should be getting back.’

Crowley is confused. ‘Do you have to complete an assignment tonight? Right now?’

‘Yes. No, not exactly … not right now.’ Aziraphale picks up his toga from the floor. He hesitates, then picks up Crowley’s too, which he gently places at the end of the bed.

Crowley sits up. ‘Then why are you leaving?’

Aziraphale looks at him, and for a moment, he looks angelic in the way humans describe them - nude and glowing in the fading afternoon light shining in through the room’s lone window. Crowley can picture his wings, white and majestic and heavy, trailing behind him.

Then he snaps his fingers and he is dressed, his toga meticulous, not a fold out of place. He looks like he always does, well put-together and unruffled. Perfectly untouched.

Pure.

Only, Crowley is aware of the mess between his legs, that soaked cunt dripping with Crowley’s come. Proof that just moments ago, Aziraphale had been writhing on a Demon’s cock, begging for release.

Aziraphale clears his throat. ’It was good running into you, Crowley. To catch up.’

Crowley’s blood is running cold again, the way it had the first time Aziraphale said those words - that blessed _We shouldn’t have -_ back in the alley.

Aziraphale smooths down his toga unnecessarily. ‘Well, until we meet again.’

Of course, Crowley thinks bitterly. _Of fucking course_. He is the idiot. He’s always the idiot.

His breath comes out shaky as it all becomes sharply, agonisingly, clear. Aziraphale had wanted him, in his bed, in his body - but not to love him. Not while he is perpetually looking over his shoulder out of fear of Heaven, like he is always, _always_ , doing.

No wonder he had been protesting, weakly and with forced words, the whole time he took Crowley to bed - a pathetic but plausible shield to assert his allegiance, even as he transgressed with a Demon from Hell.

They hadn’t been making love.

How could they, when they are a Demon and an Angel? When Crowley is not _allowed_ to make love to Aziraphale?

But they could fuck, apparently. In secret, like it was a shame. They could fuck and not speak of it again.

Like a wicked game.

The thought leaves an acrid taste on his tongue. He has been deluding himself the whole time.

‘Sure, Aziraphale,’ Crowley replies at last, his tone flat and emotionless. ‘It was good seeing you.’

Seeing him, _truly_. Seeing him in all his earthly glory, the way he looks in the throes of passion, the way he looks when he accepts Crowley’s touch, demands it in fact. The real Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hesitates, gazing at Crowley. The look in his eyes is soft, tender almost. Crowley hates it.

‘Thank you,’ he says quietly, ‘for the honeyed wine. It was lovely. I …’ he bites his lip, ‘I look forward to having a drink with you again.’

And then he leaves, not looking back as he strides across the room.

~***~

Crowley watches him go, and does nothing to stop him.

Crowley watches him go because he is a cowardly thing, too afraid to fight against Aziraphale’s convictions and persuade him to stay. Because Aziraphale won’t. Because Aziraphale might actually leave for good if Crowley pushed those boundaries, and Crowley can’t have that.

He can’t endure an existence that doesn’t have Aziraphale in it.

Even if all Crowley is ever allowed to be is his counterpart, his enemy in name, his friend in practice - and a convenient fuck when Aziraphale wants him.

Crowley would rather have that, than not have Aziraphale at all.

He flops back down onto the mattress, angrily blinking away the stinging sensation at the corners of his eyes.

Aziraphale had mentioned a next time, hadn’t he. _I look forward to having a drink with you again._ Does he intend to keep doing this with Crowley then, for them to fuck and take their pleasure from each other whenever they meet, without ever giving this a name?

 _Wicked thing_ , Aziraphale had called him.

Crowley bites his lip. Furious as he is, _hurt_ as he is, he already knows that if that’s what Aziraphale wants, he’ll give it to him. He’ll give him his mouth, his hands, his cock, his cunt, his arse, whatever Aziraphale wants from him behind closed doors.

He will be a wicked thing for Aziraphale.

With a trembling hand, Crowley reaches up and tears off the silver wreath of laurels from his hair. Aziraphale had liked it on him, had wanted Crowley to wear it as they made love.

No, Crowley corrects himself. Fucked. They fucked.

He thinks about Aziraphale’s cunt*, how the Angel had wanted to leave the mess and refused to clean up.

(* He can never not think about it again.)

He imagines Aziraphale going back to the privacy of his own rooms, wherever they may be. Would he lie down on a feather bed, hike up his toga, and revisit today’s … little adventure?

Would he touch himself, spreading the mix of his slick and Crowley’s come over his folds and rub his pretty little clit? Would he slip his fingers into his dripping cunt - three of them maybe, the way he’d done before taking Crowley’s prick - and fuck himself on them, fucking Crowley’s spend deeper inside himself?

Would he imagine it was Crowley doing that to him, Crowley’s tongue on his clit, Crowley’s cock in his cunt?

Crowley blesses out loud, the images driving him wild.

‘Fuck, angel, I’d have been happy to do that for you,’ he gasps, into the silence of his room.

His cock is growing hard again and Crowley takes it in his hand. His fist feels nothing like Aziraphale and he can no longer imagine it otherwise, even with his eyes closed - not now when he finally knows what it is really like to enter that warm cunt; to have those slick walls hugging his cock, greedily drawing him in deeper; to have Aziraphale clenching down on his prick as they rock together.

He’s ruined for life.

His orgasm feels empty, hitting him with none of the feeling or satisfaction from earlier when he’d come inside Aziraphale.

Is it going to be like this from now on, Crowley wonders tiredly. Lonely, miserable wanks until the next time he meets the Angel?

~***~

That’s exactly what happens in the centuries that follow; the wicked game they play during clandestine meetings in dark places without names.

Crowley doesn’t tell Aziraphale again how beautiful he is. He doesn’t put a voice to that feeling burning inside him.

And they don’t make love. 

They fuck, in unmade beds, in dark alleys, in empty fields, in the back room of a bookshop, in the backseat of a Bentley.

Crowley fucks Aziraphale like a Demon, like the wicked thing* he is supposed to be. He fucks him until Aziraphale cries his name, and when it’s over, he tells himself that the door closing behind the Angel means nothing to him.

(* But then again, along comes those rare occasions when Aziraphale, boneless and satiated, is unguarded enough for a few minutes after sex, allowing Crowley to hold him.

It is in those moments that Crowley can’t help but imagine that one day, however far in the future that may be, things may be different.

That they can finally meet in the open; give this thing between them a name.

But until then, he will be a wicked thing for Aziraphale, to play this wicked game.)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while and I initially sat down expecting to bang out a ~1K fic ... and now, 36 hours and 6.5K+ words of shameless smut later ...
> 
> I originally wanted to write this in the style of 'Wicked Games' and 'Hopes Realised', both of which focus on a certain aspect of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, with smut just ... happening in the background?  
> But when I started 'When in Rome', I realised I couldn't make it work that way, because this fic doesn't start in the middle of sex, rather it's supposed to show how it all began, so ... I just wrote all the sex.
> 
> Is it a yay or nay? Drop a comment and let me know what you thought ^_^
> 
> (Alternately, you can hmu on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com) too)


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